Stories I could have written...

I just finished reading Confessions of a Pagan Nun by Kate Horsley this morning.

While I'm certainly not a Pagan-Druid-turned-"nun" in 6th century Ireland, there is so much in this story that speaks to my own spirituality and the conflict I've felt for years between Paganism and Christianity.

This excerpt, taken from close to the end of the book, is especially poignant for me (highlights in brown are my own emphasis):

"I have learned many things since I came to Brigit's chapel and read the letters and scriptures of the saints. I will give here the sum of the facts I have seen concerning the transformation of this land since Christians have come here, in case they not be recorded by any other hand:

1st, improvements in tools and methods used for husbandry
2nd, increase in varieties and hardiness of plants and domestic animals
3rd, decrease in violence between túaths and in the taking of hostages
4th, increase in literacy and knowledge of the world
5th, increase in the distance between the rich and the poor, the latter increasing in numbers while the former increase in wealth
6th, decrease in the influence and freedom of women, whose councils exist no longer and whose  property has been diminished
7th, increase in cruelty to the land and disregard for its power and beauty

I see the improvements the Christians have brought, but these improvements and payments in gold have seduced the chieftains away from powers older and more elemental than scripture. The chieftains themselves relied too much on druids for their knowledge and did not make themselves wise enough. Surely a wise leader would see the benefits of marrying old wisdom to new devices, of scorning intolerance and dogma while embracing the new heroes and rituals, which have such pretty sounds and good influence. I would live in a world full of Christ-like humans, but not one full of Christians, may God forgive me. This I can now say as I prepare to leave this place, having reached the truth of my own limitations as a follower of the Christian doctrine, which the abbot has shown to be fertile ground for harmful shame and fear.

I have seen that the Christian philosophy of the bishops compels people to turn away from the earth and toward heaven. It encourages a view of the earth as a place of degredation and temptation and spreads this view of our one mother to include all mothers, whose wombs are considered unclean. And it seems curious to me that those who condemn this earth and its goods most vehemently and greedily amass those goods. The monks who preach and practice poverty are exceptions to the priests and converted chieftains who instead practice fierce and jealous aquisition. Then these rich men confess and say certain words to garner absolution for the sins they committed in order to be come wealthy. But they keep the wealth. The chieftains who used to know the earth as their wife now use her as mistress. I fear that the cleverest means of power will be for the Christians to use their wealth to own the weapons and war beasts that will give them dominance over the distribution of grain and land. This, I have heard, has already happened in Britain, where the priests have armies to mete out their doctrines and have made the people so dependent on them that they give portions of their harvest to them. It is no mystery that the Pelagians and others who say that a man can speak directly to God without a priest have been discovered floating in lakes and sleeping with axes in their skulls. Power does not willingly give up its place to truth, though I thought it would. I did not understand. May God and all who read this forgive me if my words are heresy. I still love the power of words. They dispel my loneliness. They soothe my fear of uselessness.

But I say wind and water or fire and worms can overcome any words or theory, and some priests would do well to be humbled by this fact. They would do well to look away from their manuscripts and icons from time to time. But I understand their need to dwell on miracles, codes, and saints. With me it is not so much piety as loneliness that makes me beg the hero Jesus or Brigit or any god or saint to appear to me so I can believe and feel protected, even if they do not tell me for what purpose the world exists. How sorely I need to feel that words and stories do not disguise chaos and disaster but hint at some comforting wisdom. How well I understand the true torment of hell as being eternally kept from seeing the face of God. I already know this punishment, but it is, I confess, perhaps an exile of my own doing. How thorough the loneliness! How tiresome the self-pity! I wish that I could thoroughly believe in some creed. I wish that I was ignorant enough to know one truth and discard all others."

This woman is my kindred.